


Fathoms

by MercuryPilgrim



Series: For the Sky [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Darth Nox is creepy af, Sith are hella fucked up, Vette has no filter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17377046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryPilgrim/pseuds/MercuryPilgrim
Summary: Ven'fir and Vette meet Darth Nox.





	Fathoms

“Who is _that_?”

Ven’fir heard Vette whisper under her breath, and he knew she was looking to him for an answer. He stayed quiet, and he was peripherally aware that she was taken aback by his serious expression.

People parted like water before the brow of a ship, and the sound of whispering and fearful quiet fell over the Sith Citadel.

Ven’fir watched at the bank of the parted crowd. Something foreign flickered in his belly, something _cold_.

“Darth Nox,” he murmured to Vette, voice as low as he can make it. “He’s the newest member of the Dark Council, head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge.” She tilted her head, and he hoped she understood what that meant.

He had heard stories. They talk about his meteoric rise to power, his terrifying mastery over the Force and his utter destruction of his former master.

Darth Thanaton, they whispered, had been forced to kneel and whimper before his student’s student, broken and ruined. A mere Lord had forced the Darth to his knees, a Lord steeped in power and shadow, shrewd and ruthless and sly.

Sinister, they whispered. Scheming. A prodigy of the Force.

They talked with envy and fear about the unnatural affinity with Force lightening, the torrents of beautiful energy he threw around like breathing. The dark powers at his fingertips. People muttered about how _unnatural_ such might must be.

Ven’fir heard it all and listened. At first, he hadn’t put much thought to it. Then the wild stories began to take form and become solid, and he had been forced to look up and pay attention.

He dragged his eyes up to the figure walking through the crowd as though they weren’t there, swathed in black robes. He was far less ostentatious than Ven’fir had imagined, a deep hood thrown over his head keeping some of his face in shadow.

His skin was as pale as snow, mouth twisted in some unhappy expression that could have been a grimace. A simple cloth blindfold covered his eyes, and Ven’fir had heard about that, too.

A Miraluka on the Dark Council. Aliens had been given the honour before, he knew, but not for many hundreds of years had one been so public.

Vette gasped, and he followed her eyes. Swathes of scars on his neck, poking out from under a high collar to curl over his jaw and almost bisect his mouth. He had seen markings like that before, and he know Vette had too. A collar. Slave brands. The alien Sith did not hide them or flaunt them, just as he didn’t hide or flaunt his inhuman nature.

He seemed… detached. Ven’fir studied him, even as the other Sith approached, his footfalls quiet and his head down in thought.

He didn’t seem to acknowledge the whispers or the stares, disconnected from the people focussing their attention on him.

Ven’fir felt him approach and swallowed painfully. In the Force, Darth Nox had a presence like electricity, sharp and tingling and dangerous. Ven’fir was no stranger to the Dark Side himself, it was his faithful tool, but his own frothing, burning power did not leave him prepared for the seeping drowning feeling he got from Nox. It was heavy, so heavy that he felt himself forget to breathe.

In that moment or clarity, Nox looked up. Had the other Sith eyes, they would have locked with Ven’fir’s own. Instead, the effect of being stared at was eerie when you were confronted with a blindfold instead.

“You.”

Nox voice wasn’t what he had expected. He had half expected some papery wheeze, fragile and sinister and grating. After all, Nox was a thin man, tall and slender under those diaphanous robes.

Instead his voice was deep and smooth, an undercurrent of strength there that belied his humble beginnings.

Ven’fir looked up and stared right into that blindfold. Nox’ presence may have made his skin crawl, but he was Sith. Sith didn’t quake in their boots.

“Dark Lord,” he intoned, respectful. He inclined his head just enough to be polite and felt Vette shiver next to him. Nox walked over to them, deviating from his intended course. A beautiful Togruta woman in Sith armour followed him, looking around curiously. She didn’t seem Sith, but Ven’fir didn’t dare take his eyes off Nox to study her. A Kaleesh in robes trailed behind them, his gait like a prowling Nexu.

Nox tilted his head, looking down a little to account for his extra inches. “Lord Polaris,” he greeted, voice low and velvet. “A pleasure. I have been interested in meeting you for some time.”

Ven’fir honestly didn’t like the sound of that. “I have been curious about you, too.” He admitted. “Considering how no one will stop talking about you.”

Nox seemed to accept this, his expression unchanging. His skin was porcelain white, and Ven’fir would bet his sabers that had the Sith had eyes, they would have been burning crimson. What he could see of his face would have been handsome in a sharp, hawkish way, had his expression not been as cold as Hoth.

“I suppose I am an anomaly.” The Darth allowed. “But then again, you are too, yes?”

Ven’fir blinked. “I… suppose I am.” He murmured, aware they were being listened to. He was trying to tread carefully.

“ _Manju_.”

Ven’fir heard Vette speak, and felt his stomach plummet even as Nox’ expression twisted into something awful. Vette stumbled back as the force of that attention was now solely focussed on her. Ven’fir could see that the Sith’s fists were clenched. The heavy, downing feeling increased, and Ven’fir heard Vette make a fearful noise. Ven’fir couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw sparks skittering over the Dark Lords gloved hands.

“What did you say, Twi’lek?” The Dark Lord demanded, his tone quiet but no less dangerous. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. He had taken a step forward, and Ven’fir swallowed painfully. Vette swallowed and wrung her hands.

“S-sorry,” she began, voice wavering and eyes huge. She was terrified, Ven’fir realised. “I didn’t mean to- The marks.” She managed. “On your… on your face. I recognise them.”

Ven’fir wanted to shake her. Yes, because the horrific slave brands marring the Dark Lords skin was a subject she should bring up in public, on their first meeting. He felt his shoulders ache from being so tense for so long.

To his surprise, the Dark Lord took a step back, and regarded them with frightening intensity. “Yes, I suppose you would.” He murmured, seeming to look her over. Vette cringed.

“I despise that name.” he said simply. “Do not speak it again.”

Vette nodded meekly, shivering.

Nox tilted his head as he studied them. Ven’fir despised feeling weak, but that was what Nox made him feel. The other Sith was effortless in his presence, seemingly able to own a space just by existing in it.

“I look forward to following you closely, Lord Polaris.” The other Sith murmured, before his face moved towards Vette. “And you should think about teaching your companion to stay quiet. One might think she has a death wish.”

With that, the Dark Lord nodded to them and continued his path, parting the crowd without thought. Whispers followed his fluttering robes, people watching the youngest member of the Council with interest.

Vette was shivering, and Ven’fir realised that she didn’t have his advantage of embracing the Dark Side. It must have felt horrible for her, to stand in Nox’ presence for so long. He touched her arm, and she jumped.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

Vette just nodded, shivering.


End file.
